


(Please Don't) See What I've Become

by mightydeafeningmouse



Category: Unus Annus - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, No Smut, Platonic Relationships, References to Depression, Unus Annus, a shit ton of sad ethan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:34:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27539209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mightydeafeningmouse/pseuds/mightydeafeningmouse
Summary: "Hey," Mark nudges Ethan's shoulder, taking on a softer tone. "What's going on?"Ethan doesn't know how to respond. He wants so badly to be honest with his friend, but Mark doesn't exactly have these kinds of problems, and Ethan's not looking to get made fun of. He's well aware how pathetic it is to be so unstable that one simple comment could send him over the edge, but he knows from personal experience that Mark isn't above exploiting Ethan's insecurities for a bit.
Relationships: Amy Nelson & Ethan Nestor, Mark Fischbach & Amy Nelson & Ethan Nestor, Mark Fischbach & Ethan Nestor, Mark Fischbach/Amy Nelson
Comments: 44
Kudos: 343





	1. falling so far

**Author's Note:**

> I promised myself I'd write at least one fic in the life span of Unus Annus. So, here we are, at the very end. It's been a special and wonderful ride, and I hope you've enjoyed it as much as I have.
> 
> Memento mori, friends.

Ethan wakes up with his head stuffed with cotton and his limbs too heavy to move. He doesn't know what time it is, but his alarm hasn't gone off yet, despite the morning sun filtering through the windows. 

He feels like shit.

He just woke up from a full night's slumber, he hasn't stepped foot out of bed yet, and Ethan's overcome with exhaustion. 

Logically, he knows he has things to do today. It's a filming day, not for his own channel, but for Unus Annus. Ethan agreed to record with Mark today, something he can't postpone. There's other shit, too, like the stack of dirty dishes he promised himself would get cleaned today, or the living room carpet that hasn't been vacuumed in a month. 

He wants to leave his bed. He wants to go into the kitchen and wash dishes and be productive, but his bones are so unbearably heavy.

There's more impending chores, too, like the fact that Spencer probably needs to be let out. Ethan needs to use the bathroom himself, but he just doesn't have the strength to lift the covers.

After a few minutes, the feeling gets to be so uncomfortable that he doesn't have the option to stay where he is. 

Ethan takes care of himself first before clipping on Spencer's leash and stepping outside. It's still early, and Spencer's still sleepy, so they only go out for a quick pee before going back inside.

Running on autopilot, Ethan scoops Spencer's food and refills the water bowl. Predictably, the small dog goes right to his dish and begins eating. 

The thought of putting anything in his belly makes Ethan queasy, so instead of preparing a meal like normal, he sits down on the cool kitchen tiles and listens to Spencer's soft chomps. 

Mark didn't give him a specific time to come over, he only told Ethan to be there before noon. From his position on the floor, Ethan can't see the microwave clock, but it can't be later than ten. He knows he should shower, but it's unlikely he'll be able to focus long enough to wash his hair and body in a timely manner.

Sitting criss-crossed on the cold, grimey floor with his back propped up against a cabinet, it feels like his mind is zipping in and out of dimensions. 

Between the air conditioner, Spencer's open-mouth chewing, and the everyday traffic of Los Angeles, there's so much noise surrounding him, but his head is void of all thoughts. His eyes choose a random splotch on the floor to stare at, and Ethan loses himself under the steady hum of the ice machine.

The next time he blinks, Spencer's nudging his arm, a rubber squeaky-ball trapped between his tiny teeth. 

"Spence, no, go eat-" Ethan glances over at Spencer's food bowl, only to find it licked clean.

Oh.

Spencer deposits the slimy ball onto his owner's thigh. 

"Okay, bubba, we can play," Ethan murmurs in his high-pitched puppy voice, ignoring the way his tongue feels thick and unnatural in his mouth. 

He tosses the ball a fair distance into the living room, watching Spencer scramble after it. The familiarity of the sight is unexpectedly comforting. It isn't long before the dog comes trotting back, ball wedged in his slobbery mouth. 

Ethan throws it again and listens to Spencer's nails click down the hall. A few seconds pass, and Spencer lets out a defeated whine before returning to Ethan without the ball. 

Spencer plops down directly in front of Ethan, undoubtedly seeking pats. Ethan gets the memo, half-heartedly rubbing a hand alongside the small dog's neck. Which, apparently, isn't good enough for Spencer, who lets out another dramatic whine. The dog wastes no time as he climbs into his owner's lap, settling himself down in the middle of Ethan's criss-crossed legs. 

Sighing softly, he wraps Spencer in a hug, pulling the small frame back into his chest. 

The warmth of Spencer's body seeps into Ethan's, and it's just so nice and soft and comforting.

And then Spencer turns and rests his tiny head on top of Ethan's shoulder, and Ethan wants to die in this position. The feeling of being comforted by a creature that has an infinite amount of love for everything is so special.

He kisses and cuddles Spencer every single day, he shows Spencer how much he loves him every chance he gets, and Ethan can't help but feel like Spencer's trying to convey the same message. 

Ethan relishes in the contact for as long as he can, up until Spencer gets restless and climbs off his lap. 

It's probably time for Ethan to go get ready for the day, but it takes an embarrassing amount of time to convince himself to get off the floor. Ethan's body is still a bit groggy, but, thankfully, he doesn't feel as weighed down. 

Once in his room, Ethan tugs on his yellow comfort hoodie, the soft, worn fabric acting like a safety blanket. The material of his jeans are too rough to deal with all day, so he opts to stay in the same joggers he slept in. Mark hasn't told Ethan about the video plan for today, and while he might get some weird looks for his attire, it's definitely too hot to film anywhere but an air conditioned space. 

He drags himself to the bathroom to brush his teeth, and by the time he's done, it's nearly eleven. Mark said anytime before noon, and it's only a ten minute drive from Ethan's apartment, but it'd be a dick move to come by right at twelve.

"Spencer," Ethan whistles as he steps into the living room. The soft jingle of Spencer's collar echoes about throughout the floor as the little dog trots down the hall.

Ethan grabs Spencer's harness, kneeling down to clip it on, "C'mere bubba."

When Spencer's taken care of, Ethan does a quick pat down of _phone, wallet, epipen, keys,_ before locking the front door behind them. 

The drive goes by surprisingly fast, which is weird considering Ethan made sure to drive slower than usual. He's not reckless, and he can recognize it's not the best thing to be driving when he's this spaced out. While he can't recall most of the ride, it's not like he's drunk or under the influence. He's just fucking depressed.

Ethan snaps back to himself as he pulls into Mark's driveway, parking in his usual spot. 

He instinctively turns the car off and unbuckles, but when it comes time to open the door, Ethan finds himself frozen. Staring at the handle, he imagines his hand reaching out and pulling it open. In his mind, he can do it, but physically, he can't make his arm move. Because, if he's being honest, he doesn't want to. He doesn't want to get out of the car, he doesn't want to go inside and interact with other humans and force himself to put on the stupid, exuberant video personality. He doesn't want to pretend he's stable when he barely had the strength to walk himself to the bathroom this morning. 

Ethan mindlessly shoves the keys back into the ignition, starting the car again. 

Maybe he should just go home? It's not like he'll be able to focus or create entertaining content today, and his friends will probably get frustrated with him at one point or another. Honestly, it might be easier for everyone if Ethan turned around and went home now.

Except, he can't. He has to go inside and talk to his friends and make a video and function like a regular fucking person, because Ethan made a commitment, and now he has to follow through, so he _will_ go inside, he will, but he needs to open the door first, Ethan needs to open the door, he has to open the door, just open the door, _just open thefuckingdoor_ -

"Ethan?" Mark knocks on the window, and Ethan just about wacks his head on the ceiling out of shock. 

Snapped out of the trance, Ethan scrambles to roll the window down.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you," Mark says genuinely, his head bent down to make eye contact with Ethan. "You've been sitting out here for like, fifteen minutes. Is everything okay?"

"Yeah no, I'm-I'm good," Ethan replies, perfectly chipper. "Sorry man, I guess I got kinda lost."

Mark chuckles, "Yeah, I can see that, buddy." 

Spencer whines loudly from the backseat, upset by the barrier between him and the new human. 

Mark tugs open Ethan's door, holding it out for his friend, "C'mon, we should get filming." 

"Wow, such a gentleman, Mark," Ethan gushes playfully, earning a warm smile. He turns the car off while Mark gets Spencer out, and they all head inside.

As soon as they enter the living room, Chica waddles over to Ethan with a big, dopey smile. He gladly sits on the floor with the dog, happy for the distraction. 

"Amy should be back soon, she just took Henry out," Mark informs. 

"Okay, what've we got planned for today?" Ethan asks, noticing Amy's already set up the camera and lighting in front of the table. 

"We," Mark starts, situating himself on the couch, "will be building birdhouses."

"Houses, plural?"

Mark leans over, petting Chica's butt, "Like, a competition. We each make one."

Oh _no_. God, no, Ethan cannot do competition right now. They've done shit like this before, and Ethan knows exactly how it'll play out.

"Amy found these little kits, and it comes with all the wood and shit-" 

"Mark, I don't know," Ethan interrupts, "Maybe we should save it."

Mark tilts his head, "Why? We already have everything set up." 

Ethan bites his lip. 

"Do you not like the idea, or...," Mark trails off, staring at Ethan expectantly. 

"No, no," Ethan backtracks, looking down at Chica, "It's a great idea, it's just...."

How is Ethan supposed to explain to Mark that the environment this video would create might be detrimental for his mental state?

Ethan ducks his head. "Just maybe not for today."

Mark stares at him, not unkindly, but like he's trying to solve a puzzle.

"I mean, we could do something else, but," Mark drawls out, clearly at a loss. "You gotta talk to me, Eth, 'cause I'm really not seeing the problem here. It's - we have everything set up, so unless you have an actual reason or another idea, I don't know what to tell you."

Alright, ouch. Ethan does have an actual reason, he's just struggling to communicate it. Would Mark understand if Ethan told him that he's not actually stable enough to partake in a competition? Or would he just brush Ethan off? And, even if Ethan did feel like sharing with Mark, how the hell does he explain that? 

"Hey," Mark nudges Ethan's shoulder, taking on a softer tone. "What's going on?"

Ethan doesn't know how to respond. He wants so badly to be honest with his friend, but Mark doesn't exactly have these kinds of problems, and Ethan's not looking to get made fun of. He's well aware how pathetic it is to be so unstable that one simple comment could send him over the edge, but he knows from personal experience that Mark isn't above exploiting Ethan's insecurities for a bit. 

Ethan glances up, putting on a plastic smile. "Sorry, it's - you're right. We can do the bird thing, it's fine." 

Mark's gaze doesn't waver. "You sure, man?" He looks genuinely concerned, but Ethan's already made his mind up. 

Ethan nods, "Yeah, it's all good." He needs Mark to stop staring at him like he's under a goddamn microscope, so he stands up, walking over to the table.

"Listen, we don't have to do the birdhouse thing if you really don't want to," Mark offers gently, following the other. 

Ethan internally curses at himself for making such a big deal in the first place. 

"I _do_ want to," he tries to sound convincing, but his voice falls incredibly flat. "'S a great idea, I'm sure it'll be fun-" 

"Ethan-" 

Amy, like the beautiful soul she is, walks in right in time to save Ethan from Mark's impending argument. 

"G'morning Amy!" Ethan shouts in a baby-ish tone, grateful for the change in discussion. 

She smiles at Ethan's outburst. "I take it you're ready to film?" 

Mark grumbles dramatically, draping himself into the hard plastic chair, "Amy, I'm offended you even asked that." 

Amy rolls her eyes sweetly, fumbling with the camera. 

"As if I've ever _not_ been ready-"

Suddenly, Ethan feels the familiar texture of a wet dog nose sniffing his hand. He looks down at the dog, expecting to see Spencer or Chica, but it's a welcome surprise to see Henry. 

Ethan lets Henry continue to sniff his palm while he brings his other hand up to gently pat the dog's soft crown. Since he's extremely skittish around people who aren't Amy, Henry almost never approaches Ethan, but it makes him feel extra special when Henry does come over to say hi. 

Maybe Henry can sense Ethan's stress, or maybe he just felt social today, but it's really nice to see Henry comfortable near him. 

When Ethan looks back up, they've already started the video, Mark in the middle of rambling about birdhouses and the colonization they brought to different species of birds. Overall, it's not super interesting, but Ethan's not going to complain. 

"Do you have anything to add?" Mark prompts Ethan, pulling his speech to a close. 

"I think you've covered the bases," Ethan says while grabbing the box in front of him. "Let's see what this bad boy's got in store for us." 

Mark busts into his box, peering at the items inside. A wide, evil grin settles on his face. 

"Oh, I'm going to _kick your ass_ ," Mark exclaims, pulling the hammer out of the box and spinning it in his fingers. 

Ethan slumps, holding his head in his hands. Of fucking course today would be the day he has to re-live the humiliation of not being able to put a nail in a piece of wood. 

"I am - there is not a single scenario where Ethan is going to come out on top of this competition," Mark laughs to the camera.

"Head up, Ethan," Amy reminds softly from behind the camera. 

" _Maaark_ ," Ethan whines, yanking his head up. "You made it sound like we were just gonna glue it all together, I don't wanna do _this_."

"Oh, shut up, you big baby," Mark retorts, dumping out his box. 

Ethan leans into Mark's space, making his voice soft and pleading. "What if we work together?" 

"Do you not know what _competition_ means!" Mark responds, amusement obvious in his voice. 

"But you have an unfair advantage!" Ethan argues. Despite his tone being playful, he would genuinely prefer if they worked together instead of pulling each other down the entire video. 

"I literally showed you how to use a hammer," Mark fires back. "It's not my fault you're incompetent." 

_Incompetent._

Ethan feels more and more drained by the second. 

He pouts, partly for the camera and partly out of actual emotion. Half-heartedly, he opens his own box, sluggishly laying out the materials. Ethan rummages through the wood, trying to form a plan in his mind.

Meanwhile, Mark's already nailing together the walls of his house. 

"Mark, how do I do this?" Ethan asks, using his non-bit voice. "Where are the instructions?" 

Mark sighs, "Ethan, it's a _birdhouse_." 

"Yeah, I know it's a birdhouse, asshole-"

"Well then you should know how to make one," Mark hammers on his third wall. 

Ethan groans. His brain is a little hazy and he's trying so hard to be as present as he can, but Mark is really not giving him any help.

He turns to the camera, praying he doesn't look as hopeless as he feels. "Guys, I'm kinda having a rough day, not gonna lie. So, don't expect much from me, okay?" 

"They never do," Mark mutters under his breath. It's clearly a joke, and Mark says this shit all the time, but Ethan can't help the way his chest tightens at the comment. 

He tries to focus on building his house. Mark's already miles ahead of him, so he's going to need to operate a little faster. Ethan can't tell if his hands are shaking or they just feel shaky from dehydration and low blood sugar. Nevertheless, he pushes through, lining up a nail against a chunk of wood. 

Distantly, he can hear Mark rambling to the viewers, probably about Ethan's lack of progress, but Ethan is too concentrated on the swing of his hammer to listen. 

Hammering a nail is one of those things where if you watch someone do it, it looks so easy, but when you try to do it yourself, it turns out to be super difficult. It's not fair, the way Mark effortlessly pounds in nail after nail while Ethan cannot get a single one in without it being crooked as fuck. No matter what he does, the nail either goes in crooked, or it falls out when he tries to hammer it in. 

It's embarrassingly frustrating. It's just, Ethan cannot get _one fucking thing_ done right with this task, and it's stupid, but it might be the final straw of today. 

His head hurts, and he just wants to lie down.

He takes a deep breath, resting the hammer on the table. The two pieces of wood that he barely nailed together are obviously uneven; they don't line up with each other at all. It's...humiliating, to say the least, but Ethan has decided he's done with the birdhouse. 

Against his better judgement, he spares a glance at Mark's birdhouse. Instantly, he regrets that decision, because _of course_ Mark built a near perfect structure, and now Ethan's holding back tears at his own failure. 

It's so fucking stupid. He knows he's being ridiculous, but it's one thing after the other, just piling and piling on top of him until he can't fucking breathe anymore-

"Jesus _Christ_ , Ethan," Mark wheezes, throwing his head back in a shriek of laughter. "What did you do?" 

Ethan can't bring himself to laugh along, so he responds in his real, non-video voice, hoping Mark would listen and back off, "I did the best I could."

Mark doesn't take the hint. 

"The best you could - dude, there are nails hanging out of the wood," Mark points out unkindly. 

Ethan looks down self-consciously at his half-completed work. "It doesn't look that bad," he lies, but Mark doesn't hear him. 

"I don't understand how you got the nails in like that," Mark picks up the wood, bringing it close to his face. 

Ethan reminds himself to take deep breaths, and that he can escape to the bathroom soon for a break, just don't cry in front of Mark and Amy, don't cry in front of Mark and Amy, _please don't cry in front of Mark and Amy-_

"It's like, how fuckin' pathetic do you have to be that you can't hammer one nail in?" 

Okay, Ethan's done. He's done for right now, they need to stop recording, he needs a break. The tears sting his eyes, and Ethan is having trouble swallowing. Mark's still talking, but Ethan has no idea what he's saying.

"Mark," Amy cuts in, her voice serious, making Mark shut up.

Ethan keeps his watery gaze trained on the table in front of him, but he doesn't need to look up to know the couple is staring at him.

 _Fuck_ , he thinks. _Fuck, fuck, fuck._

"Eth?" Mark asks. Ethan thinks he must look terrible for Mark to be speaking to him this gently. 

"Um," Ethan croaks, cheeks burning at the way his voice breaks, "Do you think - maybe, m-maybe we don't have to do that today?" 

Mark and Amy shoot each other a confused look. 

"Do what, bud?" 

"Like...y'know, just maybe not...make fun of me today, please," Ethan whispers, unconsciously hugging his torso. He closes his eyes, the tears finally dripping down his face. 

Mark's breath hitches. "Ethan, you know I'm kidding, right? It's - I don't mean it, it's just a joke." 

Ethan lets out a dry laugh, though it comes out like a sob. "Yeah, so funny, hahaha," he bites quickly, instantly regretting the bitter tone. 

"I'm sorry," he apologizes, finally glancing up. "I-I...just for today, please, Mark," Ethan sniffles, "I-I really can't do it t-today."

Neither of them respond to him, so Ethan stands up, not knowing what to do. 

"I'm really sorry for-for ruining the video," Ethan cries. 

"You didn't ruin anything," Amy speaks up, her voice far more comforting than Ethan deserves.

"But-But now we can't use a-any of the footage because I fucked up, and now I'm _crying_ ," Ethan whimpers. 

Mark gets out of his chair, carefully approaching Ethan. "You didn't fuck anything up-"

"Yes I _did_ , Mark, you said I did!" Ethan wipes his eyes, cringing at the moisture. He exhales heavily, voice still small and thick, "I promised myself I wouldn't cry in front of you guys."

Mark looks...sad, and Ethan doesn't like that he made Mark feel that way.

"You don't need to worry about that," Mark reassures gently. "It's okay." 

"It's _not_ okay! You're not u-understanding-"

Wordlessly, Mark spreads his arms out in a silent invitation, and Ethan, tear-streaked and exhausted, falls into the embrace.

It's absolutely stagnant silent in the house.

"I don't want you to feel like you can't cry in front of us," Mark murmurs into his friends hair. "I'm sorry I made you think that."

Ethan sniffles wetly, pushing his face into Mark's shoulder.

"You're...You're not pathetic, Ethan. You're not stupid, you're not incompetent," Mark tightens his arms around the smaller frame. "I wasn't being serious, and I know that doesn't make it okay. But I should've never said it, and I'm sorry I did." 

There's a third, smaller hand rubbing gentle circles on his back.

"I'm sorry I didn't notice you were struggling," Amy adds, and Ethan hates how he can hear the guilt in her words.

He shakes his head, trying to communicate that it's not anyone's fault. He can't tell if the message comes across, but Ethan can't string together the words to check.

They say more things, but Ethan's pretty much gone. All that's left of the world is muddled sounds and Mark's warm figure

And then, Mark's body is being tugged away from him, and Amy's guiding him to the couch. Ethan lays down on the worn cushions, watching through hooded eyes as Mark drapes one of Chica's old puppy blankets over his body.

Amy sits by his head, carding her dull nails through his hair softly.

"We're gonna talk about this when you're feeling better," Amy whispers. Ethan shuts his eyes and twists until he's laying on his side, legs curled to his stomach. Blindly, he reaches above his head to rest a hand on Amy's knee. 

Ethan tumbles into unconsciousness with the feeling of safety in his chest.


	2. to be built up again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ethan wakes up, and he and Mark have a chat.

When Ethan wakes up for a second time that day, he feels…considerably better than before. The pounding in his head is nowhere near as bad as it was prior to his nap, not to mention his body feels miles lighter.

"Hey, sleepy head," Amy greets sweetly from the other side of the couch. "Lovely to see you up and about." 

Ethan sits up, taking his time to come back to himself. 

"How long did I sleep?" He asks, rubbing his eyes. 

"Maybe an hour, hour and a half," Amy sets her iPad down, shifting her body to face Ethan. "How're you feeling?"

Ethan cringes at the feeling of his itchy tear-dried cheeks. "Um, better than - y'know, when I lost my shit there for a second."

"Well, you deserved to lose your shit. You were...it sounds like you've been packing a lot," Amy says gently. Ethan can tell she's trying to politely invite him to discuss what happened before he passed out on their couch.

"It's not like that," Ethan denies with a forced smile, "I'm fine, really."

Amy stares at him, a soft frown tugging her lips. Ethan can tell she isn't buying a word of his bullshit.

"It's okay if you don't wanna talk about it with me," Amy says comfortingly, "but you can't just bottle it up again. We both saw how that ended."

Ethan's cheeks burn as he looks away from his friend. "I'm really sorry, Amy-"

"No, Eth," Amy interrupts, eyes wide, "That's not - I meant, if you ever need someone to talk to, or anything, I'm always here. I just, I don't know if you knew that. You can call me whenever, okay? And I'll be there." 

Ethan smiles, his first real one of the day. "Be careful Nelson, I'll hold you to that."

"You better," she responds, matching his grin. 

Ethan rises from his spot on the couch, extending his arms in front of him in a dramatic stretch.

"I'm gonna get some water, I'll be right back," he calls to Amy as he walks the hall to the kitchen.

Ethan hears a sweet, low baritone voice humming before he rounds the corner to the kitchen, and he knows Mark must be cooking. At the sound of Ethan's footsteps, Mark looks up from the stove. 

"Hey, I was just about to wake you," Mark smiles softly at him. He's standing over a pan on the stove, a plate of pancakes in one hand and a spatula in the other. 

"I made you pancakes," he says softly, scooping the last pancake out from the pan and onto the plate.

"Oh, Mark, you didn't have to-"

"Your stomach was growling in your sleep, Ethan. I'll be damned if you don't eat these pancakes," Mark cuts in nonchalantly.

Ethan's been friends with Mark long enough to know that the man has a hard time showing feelings of affection or comfort. It's not that Mark doesn't care, but a lot of the time it comes off like he doesn't because it's harder for him to express his feelings. It's something that Ethan used to struggle to understand, and even now, he has to remind himself of the fact. So, for Mark to stand in front of him, offering Ethan pancakes he specifically made just for Ethan, is his way of saying, _I care about you and I worry when you don't eat._

It's...endearing.

Mark holds the plate out to Ethan, a whopping four pancakes stacked on top. He grabs Ethan's shoulder, steering him to the table.

"Alrighty, eat up," Mark says, setting a bottle of maple syrup on the table and pulling a chair out next to Ethan. 

"...Mark, I - I'm not super hungry right now," Ethan murmurs, apprehensively eyeing the stack of saucer sized pancakes. 

"I heard your stomach trying to digest itself, like, twenty minutes ago. You can't tell me you're not hungry," Mark retorts, his tone not unkind, but not leaving room for an argument.

"Well, I'm not." 

"Your tummy sounds tell me a different story."

" _Maaark-_ "

" _Ethaaan_ -"

"I don't feel good," Ethan whines. 

Mark rolls his eyes, "Yeah, and what've you eaten today?" 

Ethan hesitates before he averts his gaze, deciding to not respond. He doesn't know what to tell Mark other than he doesn't feel like eating right now, and honestly, with the amount of times it's passed underneath Mark's nose before, it's really not that big a deal. 

"Hey," Mark backtracks, his voice softer than before. "You don't have to eat the pancakes, but you gotta eat something."

Ethan bites his lip, guilt mixing with hunger in his belly. 

"I'm sorry," he mumbles. "You spent time making me pancakes and I'm being ungrateful-" 

"Hey, no," Mark interrupts gently. "You're not being ungrateful, Eth. It's - I'm sorry for pushing. If you have a stomachache, pancakes aren't the best thing for your belly anyway." 

Ethan nods, still feeling bad for refusing Mark's food.

"What if I made eggs? Or toast? Would that be good?"

Mark's trying so hard, and Ethan is oddly touched.

"Bread is good," Ethan responds, looking at Mark for confirmation.

He smiles back at him, nodding, "Okay, bread it is."

Mark brings the loaf over and hands Ethan a slice of bread. Ethan nibbles on it, trying not to think about how pathetic it is that he can only eat fucking bread, or how rude he was to refuse something that his friend clearly worked so hard on making just for him. Mark doesn't seem to mind his rudeness too much, but it makes Ethan's stomach upset regardless.

"So, um," Mark says after a minute of silence. "Has it always bothered you when we do bits like that?" 

Ethan isn't caught off guard by the question, he knew Mark was going to bring it up sooner or later, but he takes his time chewing before answering. 

"I, uh, have bad days, sometimes," Ethan's cheeks heat up. "And I know it's dumb, but I just...I guess I get really...sensitive? Just, kinda hyper-aware of, of that sort of thing." 

Mark tilts his head, looking genuinely intrigued and concerned about what Ethan has to say. "Of what sort of thing?" 

"Just - like, you saying I'm...pathetic and shit. It just kinda hits hard when I'm not feeling great about myself," Ethan murmurs, somewhere between embarrassed and ashamed. It just sucks that he's making it Mark and Amy's problem now when he should've been able to deal with it by himself. 

"Ethan, I'm so sorry," Mark says earnestly, trying to catch Ethan's gaze. "That was - I never mean it, when I say shit like that. I never mean it, and...I'm so sorry I didn't realize." 

"I know, Mark," Ethan whispers, "I know you didn't. It's just - it's really hard to hear you say that when I'm not in a great space." 

Ethan clears his throat. "And, y'know, it's not really your fault. I had a ton of chances to tell you it bothered me, and I didn't communicate like I should've. Like, how were you supposed to know when I didn't-"

"Ethan, I've called you worthless before, to your face," Mark deadpans, and Ethan flinches a little at the bluntness.

"Yeah, but, it's just a joke-" 

"But it _hurt you_ , Ethan," Mark sighs, dropping his head to his hands. Suddenly, Ethan gets the sense that Mark's upset for more than one reason.

"I was hurting you, and I didn't notice." Mark's voice is uncharacteristically soft, so soft it almost sounds like he's talking to himself. Ethan didn't think this conversation would bother Mark as much as it is. It's like, why would Mark be this upset over something so small?

"...It's really not that big of a deal, Mark," Ethan murmurs, trying to console his friend. Though, he regrets it instantly when Mark whips his head up.

He tilts his head at Ethan, staring at him like he just said something insulting. 

"You think this isn't a big deal?" 

"Well, I mean," Ethan stammers, not really sure what to say, "I've kind of been dealing with it for the past few years, so. Yeah, I don't really get why you're so-" 

Before Ethan can finish his sentence, Mark cuts him off, slamming a fist on the table. 

"Godammit, Ethan! You shouldn't have had to deal with it!" Mark rumbles.

Ethan instinctively recoils, quickly becoming nervous. The silence that passes between the two is tense and awkward.

Mark squeezes his eyes shut, jaw clenched tightly. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell," he grounds out.

"It's okay," Ethan offers gently in a quiet, higher pitch voice. 

"It's not okay," Mark asserts, voice deep and firm. "Stop making excuses for me. It's not okay for someone to treat you like shit, and I'm not the exception." 

What the fuck is Ethan supposed to say to that? He can feel his mind becoming more closed off, and it feels like so much work to try and round up a response.

Hesitantly, Ethan tries to calm him down, "I just don't want you taking the blame for something that's not entirely your fault-" 

"Jesus fucking Christ, Ethan!" Mark cuts him off again, and Ethan finds he doesn't want to talk anymore. He's so close to losing himself, and he really, _really_ cannot handle Mark's bullshit anger issues. 

"It is my fault! I'm the one who said horrible things to you, I'm the one who made jokes out of your self-worth, and I'm the one who made you feel like _shit_ , for _years_ -"

"I fucking hate when you yell at me!" Ethan screams, tears pricking his eyes. Mark falls silent. 

"If we can't have this conversation without yelling then we're not fucking having it. B-Because I'm too - I don't feel good right now," Ethan pauses, wiping away a tear, "and you're making me feel like shit again." 

He sniffles, waiting for Mark's response. 

Suddenly, a large, warm hand wraps itself around Ethan's forearm, and he doesn't have a choice but to look up.

"I'm sorry," Mark says slowly in a calm, genuine tone. "I didn't...I didn't mean to yell, I just...it makes me upset that you're not upset." 

Ethan sniffles wetly. "Do I look not upset to you?"

"No, it's," Mark chuckles humorlessly. "It makes me angry that you think my actions are your fault. I understand your argument that you didn't communicate you had an issue, and you're not wrong, but...it's _my fault_ it got this far. I said hurtful shit way too often, and that wasn't okay of me." 

Ethan nods, trying to think of anything to say in return.

Discarding his friend's silence, Mark pushes toward. "Listen, we're not doing bits anymore where I make fun of you like you're...incompetent, or anything like that. It's mean, and...it was really horrible of me to say those things, and I'm so, so fucking sorry, Eth." 

Ethan wrings his hands together, his body full of pent up nervous energy. 

"Then why did you say all that stuff?" He asks timidly, eyes glancing up to Mark's. "Like, I get it, it's for the camera or whatever, but...why would you call me pathetic?"

It's Mark's turn to break eye contact and hang his head. 

"I remember when you first started being in my videos, and, I don't know if you knew, but my fans loved you. They loved you, and they thought it was funny when I made fun of you, so I just kept doing it," Mark admits sadly. He tilts his head and narrows his eyes as if something occurred to him. "I guess it just kinda became this thing in my head, like, if I didn't know what to say or how to be funny, I would be mean to you. Because-Because I knew people liked it." 

He shakes his head, and Ethan can tell how upset and remorseful his friend is. "I never really stopped to think how that could hurt you."

Ethan clears his throat. "If it helps, I only really had a problem with it the first year I knew you, and then I kinda got used to it."

"You shouldn't have had to get used to it-" 

"I understood it was a bit, Mark. Yes, sometimes you took it too far, and it wasn't okay, but...there were times when it was okay. Sometimes it was funny, and sometimes it hurt, but the problem was you never figured how to distinguish between funny and hurtful," Ethan explains patiently. He wants Mark to understand that there were times when the banter didn't make him feel awful.

"God, I'm so sorry." 

Ethan ignores the apology, "I'm fine with you making jokes. But, when you pick at my insecurities, or call me worthless or some shit, that's when it starts to hurt." 

Mark nods solemnly, soaking in everything Ethan has to say. 

"If I could go back and tell my past self to shut the fuck up, I would," Mark says seriously.

"You can't undo anything you've done. But you can apologize, and you don't have to make the same mistakes," Ethan whispers, and Mark is a little taken aback at how wise the other sounds.

"I'm sorry I treated you like that, and I'm gonna try my best to make sure I never do it again."

"I know you will," Ethan reaches out and rests his hand on Mark's forearm. "I trust you." 

Mark smiles at his friend as he takes a small bite of bread. They sit there, together, munching on bread, for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :)


End file.
